


Certain As The Sun

by Tehri



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Falling In Love, Fluff, M/M, Random & Short
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-12
Updated: 2015-10-12
Packaged: 2018-04-26 03:15:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4988008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tehri/pseuds/Tehri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo never got a straight answer as to why his parents fell in love with each other. But it becomes easier to understand the only explanation they gave as he grows older.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Certain As The Sun

Bilbo was in his early tweens when he one day sat sulking on the bench outside of Bag End next to his father. Bungo was smoking his pipe and pretending to watch the view, waiting in silence for his son to speak. Bilbo never stayed quiet for long if he was sulking, and the boy had been in this mood since they returned home from Tuckborough after visiting Belladonna’s relatives. Finally Bilbo looked up at his father with a curious look on his face.

“Da, may I ask you something?” he asked carefully. “It’s a bit… Well, it’s personal.”

“Of course you may,” Bungo answered, smiling calmly. It was oddly pleasing to know that he knew his son so well. “What’s on your mind, Bilbo-lad?”

“Why did you fall in love with mum?”

Bungo raised an eyebrow and peered at the boy. Of course it was a question that would have shown up sooner or later, but in all honesty, it was surprising that Bilbo had been sulking with that particular question in mind. But after a moment’s silence, he smiled warmly and shrugged.

“I don’t know,” he answered truthfully.

Bilbo stared at him.

“You’ve been in love with her since before she was of age,” he said. “And you don’t know _why_?”

“You can’t always know,” Bungo answered. “Sometimes things simply happen.”

Bilbo let out a sigh, very much like the one he had given when he was twelve and had been made to explain to his apparently very slow parents just why it had been absolutely necessary for him to eat half a pie all on his own while hiding in the garden.

“Da, there has to be a reason,” he argued. “You don’t fall in love for no reason, do you? If you did, wouldn’t you fall _out_ of love just as easily?”

“Sometimes falling out of love is as easy.” Bungo forced himself not to grin at the frustrated look on his son’s face. “Bilbo, your heart may be a part of you, but it is certainly not something under your own control. If it had been, I can tell you that I would have chosen someone a bit more reasonable, and maybe a little less temperamental.” He couldn’t stop the bright grin anymore at the thought of his wife. Belladonna’s Tookish temperament was the stuff of legends. She would never back down from a challenge, and she was as stubborn as a mule when she wanted something. “Actually, I think that was one of your grandpa Mungo’s arguments for why I _shouldn’t_ court her.”

“Then why did you?” Bilbo truly sounded sceptical this time, as though he wondered about his father’s sanity. “Why didn’t you choose someone, well, more suited to _your_ temperament?”

“Why, because I was in love,” Bungo answered. He knew that he sounded like someone stating the utterly obvious, which would only frustrate Bilbo more, but the conversation amused him, and he was becoming more curious about what had motivated the boy to ask him about this. “The fabulous Belladonna Took, eldest of the Thain’s three daughters, both fascinated and frustrated me to no end. She made me want to know more about her, even while she was in no way forthcoming. She was like a difficult puzzle that I had to solve, and I was not very keen on giving up.”

“But that makes no sense,” Bilbo cried. “Why would you fall in love with someone like that if they only frustrate you?”

“I told you, lad, I couldn’t control that.” The boy’s father puffed on his pipe and closed his eyes, smiling at the memory. “All I knew was that I fell in love. Madly so, if your grandmother is to be believed. I can’t tell you why, because I don’t know why. As I said, if I had been allowed to choose on my own, I wouldn’t have chosen her. But my heart did, and here we are now. Married and happy together.”

“But you argue,” Bilbo said stubbornly. “You argue about the strangest things. About where you leave your books or your notes, about where mum places things in the kitchen…”

“We have different views on things, Bilbo-lad, but that doesn’t mean that we love each other any less,” Bungo answered, grinning unrepentantly at the look on his son’s face. “Yes, we do argue. And to be fair, I believe your mother would be frightfully bored if we didn’t. Have you ever noticed the look on her face whenever we visit Hildigrim and Rosa? They never argue, and they are completely besotted with each other still.” The young hobbit still glared indignantly at him, and he sighed. “Well, no two couples are the same, lad. Your mother and I argue, but we never forget that we love each other. We apologise to each other if we suspect our words hit tender spots, don’t we?”

“Well, yes.” Bilbo crossed his arms and stared down at his feet. “And you always forgive each other.”

“Because we know that we’d both be driven quite mad if we were exactly the same,” Bungo stated. “And because we love the differences we see in each other. I am in no way fond of or interested in adventures, and still I love that part of your mother very much.” He chuckled and reached out to ruffle his son’s hair. “Perhaps you’ll understand a bit better one day. But try to remember that it isn’t something you can control, as little as you control the rising or the setting of the sun.”

 

Only a few days later, Belladonna sat in her chair by the fire with her needlework, humming softly as she worked and waited patiently for Bilbo to speak up. The lad had come to sit by her claiming that he wanted to read, but he kept glancing curiously at his mother. She hid a smile when he looked back down at his book; Bungo had already told her about their conversation, and had given her a warning to be ready for the same question. Now that her husband sat hidden away in his study, it seemed that Bilbo had decided it was time – without his father there, he wouldn’t receive cryptic implications.

“Mum, may I ask you something?” Bilbo finally asked, closing his book as he spoke. She forced herself not to give a catlike grin and instead nodded, pretending to keep her eyes on her needlework. “Why did you fall in love with da?”

Belladonna lowered her needlework and gave her son a long look. She was still smiling, and struggling to keep it from becoming a proper Tookish grin.

“Simply because I did,” she answered. “I didn’t realise it at first. All I knew was that he was interesting.”

“Interesting?” Bilbo raised an eyebrow. “Mum, I’ve _heard_ how uncle Isengrim refers to da. ‘Boring Baggins’. Why did _you_ , of all Tooks, find him interesting?”

“Let me see…” Belladonna tapped her chin as she thought. “Unfailingly polite. Very clever, though very bookish. Very careful. Incredibly gentle. Do any of these traits sound like something that belonged in a Took?” She grinned at her son’s expression. “He confused me, Bilbo-lad. I couldn’t figure him out, and it drove me batty. When any hobbit I had grown up around would have acted rude, your father swallowed any uncouth remarks he might have in his mind and was polite. He was more than able to figure out most problems placed before him, and he was always so very careful to not get anything wrong. I didn’t know anyone else like him when we met.”

“So you fell in love with him because you wanted to figure him out?” Bilbo grimaced and shook his head. “That doesn’t sound right, mum…”

“That’s because that wasn’t the reason,” Belladonna answered. “I already told you, it just happened, and I didn’t even realise it at first. It took me some time to figure out that it was love.” She leant back in her chair, smiling at the memories. “I valued his opinion above anyone else’s. If I ever cared what anyone thought of me, it was related to what he might think. I asked my mother to teach me to knit because he showed me a scarf that his sister had made for him. He encouraged me, though in hindsight he probably wasn’t too impressed with the first few attempts I showed to him.”

“So you changed yourself for his sake?”

“I didn’t say that, love. I considered my behaviour for his sake. No matter from which point of view you look at things, Tooks and Bagginses are fundamentally different.” She laughed and shook her head. “Though no matter how I tried to control myself and behave, he finally told me that he preferred my impulsiveness.”

Bilbo groaned loudly and put his face in his hands.

“Why can’t either of you ever give a clear answer?” he grumbled. “I ask why, you say _because_. That’s not an answer.”

“We fall in love because we fall in love,” Belladonna said gently. “It’s as simple as that, though it becomes easier to understand once you’ve experienced it for yourself. I could never figure out why your grandparents married until I met your father.”

“But da said that no two couples are the same,” the young hobbit argued, lowering his hands and giving his mother an accusing glare as though she had been the one to make that very statement. “Da said that it varies from person to person.”

“And so it does.” Belladonna stood up to put away her needlework. “Your grandfather Gerontius and your grandmother Adamanta are as different as apples and peas, and yet they are very much in love and have been so since their tweens. Sometimes opposites attract, and sometimes they don’t.” She smiled at her son. “I can’t give you a straight answer, love, because there is none. When or if you fall in love is up to your heart, and not your head.”

 

Nearly thirty-two years had passed since Bilbo had asked his parents about why they had fallen in love with each other. He had since lost them both; his father passed first, three years after Bilbo came of age, and then his mother passed eight years after that. They had been laid to rest in a remote corner of Bag End’s garden, and a small field of daisies had since grown over their resting place.

He hadn’t had much time to think of his garden during the past year. There had been much to prepare, and he was on a schedule. A caravan had left Ered Luin in early April, and Bilbo travelled with them to Erebor.

Erebor. If anyone had told the hobbit that he would one day decide to leave the Shire to live beneath a distant mountain with dwarves, he would probably have laughed and called them mad. Of course, if anyone had told him that a wizard would be involved, he might’ve been somewhat more inclined to believe them. Gandalf had certainly seemed rather proud of everything that had been accomplished when he travelled with Bilbo back to the Shire.

Of course Bilbo had known that he couldn’t bring all of his belongings with him – Bag End had become rather cluttered since the death of his parents, once he had realised that he hadn’t been very keen on getting rid of their things. But after careful choice and consideration, he had managed to narrow down what he wanted and was able to bring. His father’s books, for one. They were easy enough to pack, though he felt fairly certain that he had more of them than he had clothes. He had chosen surprisingly few sentimental items, as he reasoned that the risk of them breaking and making him feel guilty about them breaking was a little too great. Besides, they would be in excellent care. After the auction-scare when he returned after his journey, he had looked over and changed his will and chosen very carefully which of his relatives would inherit his home and whatever belongings he chose to leave behind. His cousin Drogo had come of age a year earlier, and it was with the agreement of the lad’s father and mother that Bilbo had set Drogo as his heir.

“There may only be eighteen years between us,” he reasoned with his cousin Fosco, Drogo’s father. “But the lad’s bright enough, and responsible enough. Any family he might have will have a wonderful home, and I know that he will be more than able to provide for them.”

The fact that he thus snatched the inheritance from the hands of the Sackville-Bagginses was a private little joy.

Bilbo had kept up a careful correspondence with his friends in Erebor, and the knowledge that at least Glóin, Bofur and Bombur would be travelling with the caravan from Ered Luin had been quite soothing. Though some of the dwarves had eyed him suspiciously to begin with, they relaxed soon enough when they noticed how the three members of the Company treated him – as though he was family.

It also meant that he would have someone to guide him when they arrived. And it was certainly needed, he concluded once the cart with all his belongings had been brought through the gates. Much had changed in the two years since he had left the Mountain to return home and prepare. The rubble that had been the defensive wall by the gate had been cleared away, and the gates had been repaired in no time at all. Glóin, Bofur and Bombur led him through the passages, chattering all the while about changes that would be made, about which areas were still off-limits, and about how the restoration never seemed to end.

“Of course, it’s going to take us a good deal of time,” Glóin told the hobbit. “But we dwarves work fast, and now that we’ve had a proper look around we can say that the dragon certainly kept most of the destruction to the treasure chamber. Scorch marks here and there, those can be cleaned up, but most of the rubble is elsewhere.”

Bilbo had to marvel at the rooms that had been chosen for him. They were spacious, but smaller than many of the rooms he had seen during their time in the Mountain before the battle outside the gates. And there was a small door that led to a passage, which in turn led to-

“A garden!” Bilbo cried when he stepped outside. “You never told me there was a _garden_!”

“That one’s recent,” Bombur explained shyly. “Thorin’s idea. They started planning this as soon as you said that you intended to come back and live here.”

“They had help from the people of Dale,” Bofur supplied cheerfully. “ _And_ the elves of Mirkwood, though there was a bit of grumbling about that. But there’s no way about it, the weed eaters know plants better than we do.”

“Thorin actually asked elves to help with this?” Bilbo asked, turning to stare at his friends. “He did that? For _me_?”

“Told you he was barmy, didn’t we,” Glóin joked. “Yes, he did this for you. And I’m sure he’ll be asking you if you like it once he gets to see you, and once you say yes he’ll behave like a dog that just found a stick.”

Glóin’s words were not far from the truth. Thorin had shone like a sun when Bilbo met him again that evening, and had immediately asked if the hobbit was satisfied with the rooms that had been kept for him and with the garden.

“They’re lovely,” Bilbo answered with a laugh. “Though really, you didn’t need to go through the trouble of having a garden ready for me.”

“It felt appropriate,” Thorin stated, shrugging and grinning at him. “It didn’t seem fair that you should have to give up something so important to you.”

“It was worth it, then?” Bilbo asked teasingly. “Having to deal with Bard and Thranduil all over again?”

“Don’t drag up old wounds,” Thorin groaned, but there was a teasing tone to his voice. “I’d rather forget those conversations altogether. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a man look so confused, nor an elf look so _smug_.”

“It could have waited,” Bilbo told him. “I could have been here and told you what we needed, and I could have spoken to them. You didn’t need to go through that trouble for my sake.” He smiled and placed one hand on Thorin’s arm. “It was very kind of you, but you would have been saved a lot of trouble if you had waited. Besides, it’s already late enough in the year to make me doubtful whether or not I could plant anything. I don’t know what plants actually thrive here.”

“You should ask Ori,” Thorin suggested. “I believe he compiled a list of different plants – trees, flowers, bushes, vegetables – that might grow here, as well as what sort of care they should need.”

 

Bilbo was nothing if not patient. He waited with planting, and busied himself with clearing out weeds when he could. He spoke often with Ori, who was quite curious about the garden, about what might work and where to place different plants. Finally when spring arrived the next year, he got to work. His friends could often find him out in the garden, kneeling in the dirt and beaming at them.

Late in May, most of the plants were starting to show. But still there was one corner of the garden, the very spot where the sun always shone from morning to evening, that the hobbit hadn’t done anything with.

Then one day, Bilbo made his way down to Dale and came back with a small bag that he said contained the seeds of a flower that needed to be planted either in late May or early June.

“They bloom all summer,” he explained to a somewhat confused Ori. “And often through September, if it’s warm and sunny enough. They were all over the garden at Bag End.”

When pressured to tell what flower it was, Bilbo simply laughed and said “you’ll see” and disappeared back to his garden.

“You’re being secretive,” Thorin told him that evening. “What did you bring from Dale?”

“Oh, something that I had nearly forgotten about,” Bilbo answered. “I didn’t know that you had made a garden for me when I left the Shire, so I didn’t consider bringing any plants or seeds. And there’s something small that I need to take care of, and I want the flowers growing around it.”

Already around Midsummer one could see small white flowers, daisies, budding everywhere in the grass in the untouched garden spot. They were growing around an object that Thorin, after having seen it for the first time, thought was rather curious. It was a simple wooden cane, decorated here and there with carved flowers, and it had two bright green ribbons wrapped and tied around it. Bilbo looked quite proud of his little accomplishment.

“It’s a memorial,” he told Thorin one evening when they sat together in the garden and watched the sunset. “For my parents. It’s da’s cane, and mum’s ribbons. That I’ve left them to their rest in the Shire doesn’t mean that I can’t have a memory of them elsewhere.”

“I’m sure we could construct something more suitable,” Thorin said thoughtfully. “They’re your parents. They deserve a better marker than this.”

“They have one,” Bilbo sighed. “Back in the Shire. Thorin, this is more than enough. This isn’t where they’re _buried_ , this is simply so that I may look at something and remember them.”

They sat in silence for a long while after that. Bilbo watched the sun, smiling warmly at distant memories, and leant against Thorin’s side. The dwarf gently took his hand and squeezed it.

“What are you thinking?” he asked quietly. “You seem lost in thought.”

“Just something I asked mum and da about once,” Bilbo answered. “I asked them why they fell in love with each other.”

Thorin chuckled and tilted his head to rest it against the hobbit’s.

“What did they say?” he asked.

“That it simply happened.” Bilbo grinned at the memory. “They didn’t give me a straight answer, because there wasn’t one to be had. They said that they couldn’t control it, and that they were pleased with how it all turned out.”

“Reasonable hobbits,” Thorin huffed. “But I am glad to hear that they didn’t fight it.”

“I don’t think they wanted to,” Bilbo said. “Both were far too curious to fight it. And once they actually realised that they were in love, it was a little too late to fight.”

“You make it sound quite tragic,” Thorin teased. “I thought you said that they didn’t _want_ to fight.”

“Shush, you.” Bilbo poked Thorin in the ribs and smirked. “Well, da told me that you can’t control how your heart feels, not more than one can control the rising or the setting of the sun.”

“Your father sounds like quite the sensible person,” Thorin commented. “Though I wonder if you accepted that answer.”

“I was in my tweens, and it was a cryptic answer,” Bilbo muttered. “No, I didn’t accept that, so of course I asked mum instead. But she told me nearly the same thing, that it just _happens_.”

“And here you are.” Thorin straightened and gave the hobbit a warm smile. “Having left your homeland to live with dwarves.”

“To live with you,” Bilbo corrected, smiling back at him. “Because my heart has already made its choice, and I am rather tired of fighting it.”

For a moment, Thorin was quiet. Then he leant forward, pressed his forehead against Bilbo’s and closed his eyes.

“Words cannot express how grateful I am for that your heart chose me,” he said softly. “And that mine chose you.”


End file.
